


Taking Care

by Iwouldwrite1000fics



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Common Cold, Fluff, Food Poisoning, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Injury, M/M, Sick Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sick Crowley (Good Omens), Sickfic, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:59:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwouldwrite1000fics/pseuds/Iwouldwrite1000fics
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley care for each other through the ages.





	1. Migraine

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of hurt/comfort stories starring our two utter dorks. If you have a h/c prompt you'd like to see here let me know in the comments :)

Armageddon had been a rather full day for Anthony Crowley.  Between holding his Bentley together with only Queen and willpower, to stopping time, and then having to hike back to Anathema’s cottage, because Dick Turpin crapped out halfway there it would be taxing for any person or demon in this case.

So it wasn’t surprising that about half an hour into their ride back to Soho one side of his head was pulsing and the other was pounding. 

Not surprising just damn inconvenient.  

He shifted in his seat and leaned against the window, telling himself that the cool glass was making him feel better.

“Crowley?  Are you all right?”

“Peachy,” he answered tersely, and screwed his eyes tightly shut behind his sunglasses.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he leaned back not sure why Crowley was suddenly so techy, but assumed it was simply his way.  He was still a demon after all.  So the angel made himself comfortable in his seat and smiled, content that they could still indulge in such mundane things and grateful that the world was, mostly, as it should be.

Crowley meanwhile was grateful that the bus was dark and with the late hour very few cars with headlights to blind him as they came up the road.  Still maintaining the mental note for the bus driver to go to London and not know why was draining.  They even made two wrong turns as Crowley fought through the growing feeling that his skull was trying to split itself in two.  They arrived in one piece in the end though, even with Crowley stumbling his way off the bus, basically following Aziraphale’s scent and making a note to curse his barber for making it so flowery.  He even held it together for a good two, maybe even three feet, before his knees buckled and he tossed his cookies, proper American ones Anathema had baked, in the nearest gutter. 

“Crowley!”         

 The angel knelt down next to him and Crowley felt a warm touch against his back.    

“Knew we got the world to keep spinning, but not this much,” he mumbled.

The hand moved around his waist as they stood up.

“Come on your place isn’t far.”

Crowley leaned on him as Aziraphale got them up to his-well their flat he supposed and into the bedroom.  

“Now let’s get a good look at you.”

Crowley curled up on the bed, holding his stomach.

“Aziraphale, d-don’t let there be light.”

“Of course,” he answered, opting for turning on the soft lamp light instead.  Then he gently removed Crowley’s sunglasses.

Crowley cringed at even that small amount of light and Aziraphale tutted and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you just say something when I asked?”

Crowley snorted. “So you could what?  Sit there and worry for another hour?  It wasn’t like  we could have done anything.  I had enough trouble with the bus driver.”

“Well I could have miracle-”

“And risk even more rude letters from Gabriel? I couldn’t ask you to.”

Aziraphale smiled and glanced down.  The thought was sweet really, and Crowley was probably right.  Head office was already mad enough at them without ‘frivolous’ miracles making the list too.

“Human methods it is then,” he declared as he got up and left the room for a while, returning with a damp towel and a red mug with a devil's tail for a handle.

Crowley couldn’t help the moan of relief that escaped him as the cold cloth was draped against the back of his neck; though he also managed a distasteful sniff at the mug and its contents.

“I mixed ginger and peppermint.  Might not be the most scrumptious flavour, but it will help settle everything.”

Yellow eyes squinted at it, but Crowley drank it all anyway knowing full well Aziraphale would be put out if he didn’t.

Aziraphale took the empty mug away and returned to find Crowley half slumped on his pillow; the tension around his eyes fading a bit as he fell asleep.  Carefully the angel adjusted the demon slightly so he wouldn’t have a sore neck in the morning.

Now that Crowley was in better shape he should be getting back to the bookstore-oh right.  Aziraphale sat down on the bed as he remembered once again the he no longer had a home.  But Crowley had offered for him to stay here and he might need something during the night and…

Aziraphale lost his train of thought as Crowley rolled onto his side and cuddled close to him.

Well that settled it didn’t it then?  He was an angel after all it was only proper that he kept watch over the vulnerable.


	2. Food Poisoning

Crowley fidgeted in his seat, glancing to the aisles hoping to catch a familiar sight of white ruffles, as the people on either side glared at him.  He glared right back even though his glasses prevented anyone from noticing.  He was the reason they were even here after all.  He’d filled the place to bursting for Shakespeare’s latest tragedy, which Crowley wanted to remind everyone he didn’t even like, and Aziraphale couldn’t be bothered to be on time!

Probably got distracted by some new restaurant Crowley thought as the play began.

But as act one slipped into act two and the stragglers had long since found their seats while the spot beside him remained empty Crowley began to worry.  It wasn’t like Aziraphale to miss a play entirely like this.  He had gone off to Edinburgh alone, and on a horse no less, something must have gone wrong.  So as Hamlet went off to England Crowley went off to find his wayward angel.

His travels brought to a small home that was clearly Aziraphale’s because the windows had almost been completely covered by stacks of books, so high that only the very top would let any light inside.  Crowley rolled his eyes.  Aziraphale really needed to find somewhere else to put everything.

Letting himself in Crowley weaved his way around the stacks.

“Aziraphale, are you in here?” he called out.

The only response he got was a low moaning sound from upstairs.

Taking the stairs two at time Crowley rushed upstairs and found Aziraphale curled up on his side on the bed in the corner. His arms wrapped round his middle and his eyes screwed shut in pain.  

“Aziraphale?”

Slowly his eyes opened and filled with relief at the sight of the demon.

“Crowley, it’s good to see you.”

“The mission went that badly did it?  Who hurt you?” he asked, coming over, only to frown as he saw no blood and no bones sticking out from odd places.

“No, no it’s not that.  The mission was perfectly fine. I’m afraid this is my own doing.  You see I was coming back and there was this vendor just up the road and-” 

“You ate from a road side stand really?!”

“Well it was delicious.  It-it just didn’t sit very well obviously.”

Aziraphale curled in on himself and moaned again.

“I’ll get a bucket,” Crowley announced.

He did, miracling a cold cloth while he was at it, and dropping it next to the bed and then stood there awkwardly, half holding out the cloth for Aziraphale.  Comfort was not his thing.

“Do you need-I mean-can I get anything else?”

Aziraphale shook his head as he accepted the cloth.

“Well o-okay than I’ll just I mean I’m sure you would I…”

“Company would not go unappreciated, Crowley.”

“Of course.”

Crowley gingerly sat down next to the angel.  Rubbing his back as the offending food made its reappearance.  Crowley’s nose wrinkled at it and he could not understand how something like that had possibly tasted good going down.  Still it was easy enough to vanish away and Aziraphale seemed to be in less pain so that had to be a good sign.  

“I’m sorry about today, the play I mean,” Aziraphale managed, as he wiped his mouth with the cloth.

Crowley shrugged. “It’s all right I just you know packed the house full made sure Juliet had extra grapes nothing important.”

He leaned back against the wall, but a quick glance at Aziraphale’s crestfallen face was enough to get him to knock off the ribbing.

“Just means it’s your treat next time right, Angel?”

Aziraphale smiled, knowing he was forgiven.  “I’ll make sure it’s for one of the funny ones.”

“And I’ll pick the meal beforehand shall I?”

“Yes, I believe that would be best.”


	3. Cold(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little bit of fluff since I'm working on other fics that are heavier on the angst.

The clouds were dark and heavy over London; the rain coming down in sheets, the wind whipping through the trees at Saint James Park.  Where Crowley and Aziraphale would normally meet for their weekly the world didn’t end we can still do this dates.  Today the date had been relocated to the bookshop, where the usual wine and even more wine had been replaced with orange juice and copious amounts of tea.  As it wasn’t the weather that had driven them inside, not really, but the fact that both the angel and the demon had taken ill.  Their bodies were immortal but still corporal and thus still subject to the occasional bout of nastiness known as the common cold.

Crowley doubled over into the nest of blankets he’d built for himself on one couch as he sneezed loudly.

“Bless y-”

“Don’t you dare,” he sniffled.

“Gesundheit then,” Aziraphale offered instead, before pressing a tartan handkerchief to his nose to sneeze himself.

“You as well.”

Just then there was a knock on the door.

“Now who on Earth could that be?  We’re closed,” Aziraphale tried to call out and only managed to spark off a coughing fit.

“I got it,” Crowley said, disentangling himself from the blankets and making his way downstairs.

Aziraphale meanwhile miracled the orange juice cold again and drank down two whole glasses of it before Crowley returned with a container in his hands.

“What is that?”

“Lunch,” Crowley announced, “I convinced the guy at the Vietnamese place we like that they did delivery.  So now we have soup and no one had to cook.  And before you nag, yes I tipped him well for coming out in this weather.”

“Oh, well that was very nice-er thoughtful of you.”

Crowley glared as he flopped onto the couch and buried his shivering body back under the blankets.

“Shut up and pass the tissues.”


	4. Thou Shall Keep Holy the Sabbath

The 14th century was known for many things most notably the black plague of which Crowley was not a fan.  One might have thought he would be thinking that death meant more souls for Hell, but since this was Pestilence’s doing, an independent contractor of both Heaven and Hell let’s remember, all it did was cause a massive back log in Limbo.  Leaving dozens of angels and demons with the task of sorting out who belonged where. 

Meanwhile still topside Crowley was dealing with those left behind and their struggles to cope with it all.   Since so many believed the pandemic was caused by bad air they burned all manner of spices and herbs trying to cleanse it. The most notable, for Crowley anyway, being sage that left him choking and hacking at nearly ever doorway.  That of course led people to avoiding him like…well like the plague as they assumed he was infected.  That made tempting difficult which put him on bad terms with his bosses who were already in a foul mood given the Limbo situation.  All in all, the entire situation was hell on earth and thus he found himself spending most of his days as a snake to keep all that at bay.

This particular day found him sprawled out in a slightly overgrown vegetable patch basking in the sun.  It was perfectly pleasant until the lady of the house opened the back door with a water bucket in tow and flung the contents over the garden.

The shock of the cold water caused him to press his body tight together.  The coils rubbed up against one another which turned out to be a huge mistake because just as suddenly they _burned_.  Crowley hissed in pain as the droplets of water ran everywhere and left sheer agony in their wake.   

Unable to get his mind to focus enough to change form he instead focused on only one thing: Aziraphale.

That was how the former angel of the Eastern gate suddenly had an angry hissing snake on his cottage floor.

“Crowley!”

The snake gave no answer as the cottage reeked of sage and he felt his throat begin closing up.  He thrashed about as his body tried desperately to find relief when there was only pain from every quarter.

“Please I need you to calm down.”

“S-sssage,” he finally managed, wheezing hard.

Aziraphale gasped in understanding and snapped the offending herb away and opened the windows to air the room out.  As he gave a quick glance out his door to make sure no one had heard the racket he heard the hissing stop and turned back around to find Crowley huddled up in a corner, but thankfully no longer wheezing.

“Please try to relax you’re only making it worse.”

“Hurtsss.”

“I know, but I can’t help you if I can’t get to your injuries.”

Crowley gave in, slowly uncoiled, and went limp on the floor while Aziraphale tutted at the burns all along his body.

“What happened?”

“Was just lying in some lady’s garden she threw out a bucket of…something.   Then my whole body just started burning.”

“It was probably holy water.”

“Holy what?!”

“The priests use it during mass this was likely diluted and given to the family to bless their food.”

“Food already tastes like dirt and now they’d had to ruin it completely,” Crowley grumbled and glowered at the floor.

“The people are desperate, Crowley.”

Crowley just huffed and shivered as Aziraphale’s fingers worked along his scales. “I hate this century.”

Aziraphale simply nodded and continued tending to the wounds.  He wouldn’t be able to heal them fully holy injuries required an angelic healer of which he was not, but he could keep them from getting worse and allow Crowley to be comfortable enough to heal the rest of the way on his own.

When he was finished he went to the small basin to clean off his hands as Crowley twisted his head to look at the thick salve that covered his back.  His tongue flickered at it and he twisted back around with disgust.

“I smell like a day old fish cart.”

“I know, but it will help.  Now do rest, Crowley, you’ll feel better.”

“Take your word for it, Angel,” he groused as Aziraphale sat back down in his chair and retrieved the manuscript he’d been reading.

After a moment Crowley joined him, coiling around his legs and pooling his body in the angel’s lap.

“Sorry, I just I-I need the heat source.”

Aziraphale smiled and rubbed his fingers gently along Crowley’s head, careful of the healing wounds.

“You may stay as long as you wish.”

As Aziraphale continued the soft strokes with his fingers Crowley felt himself slowly begin to drift off and let it come as he knew at last that he was safe.


	5. Itchy Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Snake Crowley, because I love Snake Crowley.

_“You were a snake.”_

Is he is a snake. And as a snake he had an instinct to shed.  It was far more infrequent than an average snake but it still happened, and when it happened in winter well…things were less than pleasant.   It just so happened that the winter following the little apocalypse that couldn’t Crowley was subject to that instinct and it was in one word: awful.

First off the blue phase left him blind so he had retreated into his flat for his safety and others as the whole ordeal just made him angry.  Then the winter had to be unseasonably dry so the shed wasn’t complete.  Bits of it were sticking to his fresh scales especially on his back, and by Satan it itched!

Of course since he was a snake that made trying to get things to help rather difficult and so Crowley was currently pouting in his bathtub.

That was where a certain angel who had spent some time talking only to an answering machine found him.

“Crowley?”

Crowley shrunk down in the tub and if he still could blush more than his belly would have been red in embarrassment.

“Az-Aziraphale, what are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone I thought something had happened.” he frowned. “Whatever are you doing?”

No point in hiding now Crowley thought and let his body curl up around the side of the tub.

“Shedding or trying to anyway,” he said, giving his answer slightly to Aziraphale’s left as the stuck eyes caps made focusing difficult.

“Oh my I didn’t realize you needed to.”

“Yeah, not something I’m exactly proud of.”

He moved then scraping the top of his head along the underside of the tap.

“Sorry it itchesss.”

Aziraphale came over and knelt down next to him, wincing as he could see the bits of shed stuck all down his long body.

“Would you let me help?”

Crowley hesitated for a moment, but knew he needed it. “All right.”

Aziraphale rolled up his sleeves and filled the bath with warm water.  He let Crowley slither in to soak and while he did the angel got a warm damp cloth and rubbed it over his face until the caps came off. Then he set about scrubbing his scales.  Moving in slow gentle circles to make sure every piece was off.

 “Thankss.”

“You’re welcome.”

When he was certain all the shed was gone he spent some time admiring Crowley’s new shiny coat until the water began to cool.  Crowley took that as he cue and shifted back, stepping out to wrap himself in fluffy towels as Aziraphale started drying his hair.

“Don’t suppose I could tempt you to dinner and a play to thank you properly, Angel.”

“I think perhaps you could.”


End file.
